


Give A Dog A Bad ... Or Good ... Name

by Ytteb



Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, Gen, Humor, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-28 12:56:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15049541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ytteb/pseuds/Ytteb
Summary: The team are on a stake out … a boring stake out.  Probably set in Season 13 … Written following the Artwork Prompts Challenge by Red_Pink_Dots - it's probably only loosely follows the prompt for Chapter 5 … but thank you for the idea!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the link to the Art Work - https://i.imgur.com/roILoCG.png

Tony DiNozzo is running.  He has always liked to run but, most of the time, prefers not to delve into the possibility that his subconscious is telling him something … no, Tony tells himself, it’s just that his superb physique demands an outlet.  Tony laughs – despite all that has happened to him his sense of humour is more or less intact.

But Tony is running … _still r_ unning, you could say.  But there is something different about this running and it takes Tony a while to realise.  For a long time, he has been content with the easy rhythm of his legs, the spring in his step, the way he is eating up the miles … he can feel the tension easing, control returning and then he looks down and sees that he is running on all fours.

Tony is shocked, but his body does not immediately process the shock and he continues to run on smoothly on his four copper coloured paws.  Yes, paws!  How had this happened wonders Tony?  And as his brain and his body get in sync, the brain realises that it doesn’t know how to make this body run on paws and so Tony stumbles and rolls head first into a pair of human legs.

The human legs stand fast but there is a sound of annoyance from their owner.  A pair of sharp blue eyes look down on a spread-eagled Tony and, quicker than he can see, a hand shoots out and taps Tony on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper.

Tony jerks back to wakefulness with a “Hey!  Did you just swat me with your paper, Boss?”

Muffled giggles alert Tony to the fact that he is not alone, “Something funny, Bishop and McShowabitofsympathy?” he demands.

“Sorry, Tony,” says Ellie, “But it was funny.  You were sort of snuffling and snorting …”

“Yeah, what were you doing in that dream?” asks McGee, “Or shouldn’t I ask?”

“I was running,” says Tony truthfully.

“If you say so,” says McGee.

“I was trying to wake you up,” says Gibbs sternly as he tries to nip the potential squabble in the bud, “but you wouldn’t wake up.  So I …”

“Hit me on the nose?  I’m not a puppy,” says Tony trying neither to whine or sound petulant but unsure if he is succeeding.

“Not sure you’re house trained,” grins McGee who is finding that he is enjoying the spectacle of a disorientated Tony trying to make sense of what is going on.

“Ha ha!” says Tony in what he thinks is probably a less than scintillating reply.

“I gave you a _head slap_ ,” said Gibbs, “’cos that usually works.”

“Thank you, Boss,” says Tony, relieved to know that Gibbs hasn’t resorted to new training methods.

“But,” says Gibbs, “I might try that another time … so long as I’ve finished the crossword.”

Tony frowns as he tries to work out how he can sabotage Gibbs’ completion of the crossword but, as he does not date any crossword setters, he can’t immediately think of an answer.

“Was there a reason you woke me up?” he asks in what he hopes is a dignified manner.

“Time for you to take watch,” says Gibbs.

“Huh,” says Tony.  Damn, he thinks, really not firing on all verbal cylinders.

“Come on, Tony,” says Bishop kindly, “I’ll bring you up to date.”

Ellie, of course, is loving the stake-out although Tony thinks the novelty will soon wear off.  Tony is a veteran of stakeouts, but this is the first time he has been on watch in a church.  Or rather, a church which is in the process of being converted into a luxury house.  Tony is doubtful about the design choices being made – _more money than sense_ is one of the thoughts which crossed his mind when he saw the building.  It seems that the new owner is keen to retain as many of the ecclesiastical features as possible and, while Tony agrees that the stained-glass windows are pretty, he is less sure about a pulpit in the living room and the picture of Jesus being baptized in the bathroom where the original font has been upcycled into a wash basin.  Tony isn’t what he would call _religious,_ but he finds he has a sense of what is _fitting._

“OK, shoot,” orders Tony.

“Huh?” asks Bishop.

“What’s been happening?” clarifies Tony.

“Not a lot,” says Ellie discontentedly.  “People walking by.  Cars driving by.  It rained for a while …”

“Does that matter?” asks Tony.

“No.  I guess not.  Thought you’d like to know.”

“That boring, eh?” says Tony sympathetically.

The sigh tells Tony all that he needs to know about the lack of excitement that attended Bishop’s spell of watching. 

This is the second day that they have been holed up in the building.  Work has stopped on the site: allegedly because the supply of Carrara marble for all the floors, which is being imported from Italy, has dried up.  Tony is hoping that the style police from Washington Diocese have heard rumours of what is being done to their old church and are taking action.  He wonders if the Diocese do have style police … does _anyone_ have style police?

“Uh, Tony,” says Ellie tentatively.

Tony shelves the matter of diocesan police for the moment, “What, Probie?”

“Uh, you sort of … spaced out there for a while.”

“I was …” Tony waves a hand airily as he realises the impossibility of explaining his thought processes to Bishop.  He can barely understand them himself so doesn’t rate his chances of explaining them to anyone else.  “Off you go,” he commands, hoping he is giving the impression of being occupied with things above the Probie’s paygrade: on the whole, he thinks this is unlikely since his attempts at lofty disdain are rarely interpreted correctly.  Ellie is tired, however, and after a puzzled look, trots away happily enough.

Tony sighs and settles down to watch the building opposite for signs of nefarious wrongdoers.  A drugs cartel is suspected of having set up near Annapolis Naval Academy targeting the students; this would be bad enough, but the drugs are being cut with chemicals which supposedly ‘enhance’ the performance of the drugs but which in practice cause heart rate to accelerate dangerously.  The situation is dangerous and having to take a slow watchful approach is driving Gibbs mad but the warehouse across the road from the church is the best lead.  Gibbs decided they should enter the building under cover of darkness, bring their own supplies and stay as long as needed. 

This is a good plan but unfortunately, from Tony’s point of view, _supplies_ don’t include access to movies.  Tony sighs but he knows that the other members of the MCRT are suffering from their own forms of deprivation; he isn’t sure what Bishop is missing but he is sure that Tim is getting twitchy from being away from his computer gaming. 

Tony won’t be surprised if the building contractor returns and finds that Gibbs has finished all the woodworking – he has seen Gibbs looking wistfully at some cabinets which are waiting to be fitted. 

“Huh,” says Tony and then looks around furtively when he realises he has said this out loud.  Nobody has noticed, however – his co-workers are used to his muttering, so he doesn’t have to explain that he has just had a revelation.  Unfortunately, it is not a case related epiphany, but a Gibbs related one: Tony has remembered Rule 35 – _Always watch the watchers_.  Gibbs is always watching; he is the personification of watchfulness so does that mean that Tony – who is a rule follower as long as they are Gibbs rules – should always be watching Gibbs?

Tony shakes his head: this is something else to be pondered at a later date.

“We boring you, DiNozzo?” asks Gibbs who has, of course, spotted the headshake.

Of course, Tony should simply say _No,_ but he rarely goes for the simple approach.  “Well,” he says, “I _am_ bored.  I mean, as stakeouts go this is a pretty boring one but I wouldn’t say that it’s _you_ who’s boring me.”  Gibbs directs one of his level stares at Tony which he prolongs enough to try and panic Tony into yet more unwise meanderings … but Tony has learned some resistance over the years and simply nods and goes back to watching the warehouse.

Gibbs makes a noise which is somewhere between a grunt of satisfaction, a _hah_ of triumph and a hiss of indifference.  Tony is used to that noise and lets it wash over him.

A few hours later, Tim wanders by.  Tony spares him a look, “How you doing, McDeprived?” he asks.

“What?” says McGee.

“You can’t fool me,” says Tony, wishing it were so.

“What?” repeats McGee.

“You’re wondering why Boss won’t let you play Gremlins and Ghoulies on your phone,” says Tony.

“Tony!” says McGee scornfully, “I don’t want to play _Gremlins and Ghoulies!”_

Tony finds in this case that he is not fooled, “OK, so I got the _game du jour_ wrong,” he says, “I have got a life, you know,” He wonders if this is true but decides this is something else to think about later, “You can’t expect me to keep up with your on-line profile.”

Tim hesitates and leans forward conspiratorially, “It’s Mars Mayhem 365,” he whispers, “I’d got to level 47 … another level and I’d be Lead Astronaut of the Gamma Quadrant.  Do you know what that means?”

Tony replies honestly and happily, “No, not a clue.  But I’m guessing from your anguished expression that it’s important?”

Tim leans in even closer and Tony backs away, “It’s completely unreasonable,” he says, “I can put it on silent … even though the sound effects are _awesome_ … and it wouldn’t use up all the Wi-Fi limit like Gibbs thinks.  I could play the game without it stopping anything else working …”

“You mean I could be watching a movie on Netflix?” demands Tony.

“Yes, yes,” says Tim impatiently, “But you can watch movies anytime.  There’s another astronaut on my vapour trail and he’ll get there before me!”

Tony nods his head sympathetically while wondering if Tim is the person with whom he has the most unlikely conversations.  “You’ll just have to suck it up, McNeilarmstrong,” he says, “Gibbs is in Captain Ahab mood.  Reasonableness isn’t on the agenda at the moment.”

Tim huffs discontentedly but seems to realise that Tony won’t take up cudgels on his behalf.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” asks Tony.

“I’m not Gibbs,” says Tim.

Tony thinks there are many answers to that statement but opts for a quizzical eyebrow.

“I can’t switch to sleeping like he does,” explains Tim, “You know, he thinks it’s easy to sleep 3 hours on, 3 hours off but I can’t do that.”

“You at a loose end then?” asks Tony.

“Why?” asks Tim suspiciously.

“I need you to look something up for me.”

“Why can’t you do it?”

“It’s computer geeky stuff,” says Tony.

“I’m not doing research on strip clubs in DC,” says Tim firmly, “Do you know how much trouble I got into doing that for you the last time?  Cyber Ops chose that day to audit our access to non-essential sites.”

Tony waves his hand dismissively, “Relax, McWorrywart.  I’m a reformed character … and besides that list was very thorough.  No, this is work.”

“Then why don’t you do it?”

“Because it would involve me not looking out of the window,” says Tony.  “You really think Gibbs would approve?”

“OK,” agrees Tim.  “What do you want?”

Tony hands him a piece of paper, “Look up that cab company.”

“Atobcab,” says McGee squinting at Tony’s scrawl.

“No.  A to B Cab,” says Tony.

“Oh,” says Tim, “That makes more sense.  Why am I looking?”

“I don’t recognise the name,” says Tony.

Tim is about to press for more details but senses that Gibbs is approaching so scurries off before he can be admonished for distracting Tony.

NCISNCIS

Tony is running – again.  He’s not sure why he is running but it is important.  Something is wrong, he’s searching for something.  He doesn’t know what it is but is sure he will know when he finds it.  Somehow it doesn’t come as so much of a surprise when he realises that he’s running on all fours again … but he notes, with a touch of disappointment, that his legs are not the springy, athletic legs of before.  No, these are sturdy, long legs and he realises that he’s built for endurance rather than speed.

He plods on, wearily now but determined and then, up ahead, he sees something lying in the snow – noticing for the first time that he is cold and is travelling through a winter landscape.  Something warms within him, however, as he recognises that he has found what he is looking for and he trots up to his target - a man with blue eyes.  The man sits up and holds out his arms, as Tony gets close, the man grabs the barrel from around his neck and takes a drink from it.

Tony sits obediently and smells the coffee that is being drunk.  He waits hopefully for a pat on the head and is startled when a newspaper suddenly appears and strikes him on his nose.  He wakes up,

“Hey!” he yells, “Enough with the newspaper!”

Gibbs stares at him over the rim of his coffee cup.

“Gibbs didn’t hit you,” says Ellie, “Or at least, not with a newspaper.”

“No,” says McGee, “Just your usual head slap.”

“Oh,” says Tony as he processes this information.  “Oh.”

“You were shivering,” says Ellie helpfully.

“And smiling,” says Tim.  “What sort of dreams do you have, DiNozzo?”

“That’s privileged information,” says Tony once again reaching for dignity.

“I looked up A to B Cabs,” says McGee.

With an effort, Tony shakes off the effects of the dream, “Huh?”

“You know, you asked me to look them up,” says McGee crossly.

“All right, McPeevish.  I remember,” says Tony, “What you got?”

“Not much,” says McGee.

“Why not?” asks Tony.

Tim’s lack of sleep is beginning to catch up with him and he is looking forward to being relieved by Ellie soon, so he snaps, “I did my best, Tony … it’s not as easy as you and Gibbs seem to think.”

Tony raises his hands in surrender, “That wasn’t what I meant, Tim.  You said you hadn’t found much and I asked why: I meant why wasn’t there much to find?”

“Oh,” says Tim in a penitent tone.

Tony realises that Tim is to some extent been the team member who most adheres to Gibbs’ dictum that apologies are a sign of weakness.  Tony, despite years of aversion therapy at Gibbs’ hands, is still prone to apologise if he makes a mistake while Ellie hasn’t yet had the shine rubbed off her.  Given all this, and Tim’s apologetic tone, Tony is willing to accept the tacit apology.

“So?” Tony asks mildly.

“It’s a new company,” says Tim, “Not got much of an on-line profile yet so not much to find out.”

“How did you find anything out?” asks Tony.

“Went through to the Transportation Department,” says Tim.

“Huh,” says Tony.

“DiNozzo?” asks Gibbs.  It seems he recognises something in Tony’s expression and senses that dots may be being joined up inside his head.

“Well,” says Tony as he thinks aloud, “I didn’t recognise the cab name.  And _yes_ , I know a lot of cab firms.”

“So?” asks Gibbs.

“So, I figured it might be a new firm.”

“It is,” confirms Tim.

“But then I thought they seemed to be busy.”

“Yeah?” asks Gibbs.

“Thirty cabs have dropped people off in the three hours I was watching,” says Tony, “And twenty-four of them were A to B Cabs.  That seems a high percentage to me.  And now Tim says they’re a new firm.”

“So?” asks Tim.

“So how do people know to hire them?  You said they’re not on-line much, so I guess that means they’re not running some sort of introductory offer.”

Tim taps on his laptop, “No, nothing I can see.  Word of mouth, perhaps?”

“Does that work nowadays?” asks Gibbs.

“Not like it used to,” says Tim.  “I mean people post comments on Twitter and Facebook … that could be how word gets around.”

“And have they?” asks Tony, “You know, posted on Twitter?”

“No,” says Tim, “Doesn’t look as if they’re on Twitter or Facebook.”

“Why do you think it matters, DiNozzo?” asks Gibbs.

“It might not,” says Tony honestly, “But it seems odd that everyone is arriving here – at a place we’re staking out as a possible drugs den – by using an unknown cab company.”

“Get on to Abby,” orders Gibbs.  “Ask her to dig.  Tim, get some sleep.”

Tony calls up Abby who is managing to keep cheerful despite _her guys_ being out of the office so long.

“Hey, Abs,” says Tony when he finally makes himself heard over the noise of Multiple Misdemeanours Midnight Rave.

“To-nee,” squeals Abby.  “I miss you!”

Tony is distracted by what he sees pinned to the glass wall which divides the lab from her office.  “What’s that?” he asks.

“Oh, do you like it?”

“What is it?” he asks again.

“Well, when you said that you were staking out in a church … which I think is totally _cool_ by the way.  If I didn’t _love_ my apartment I would _so_ want to live in a converted church.  Well, if I had a few hundred thousand bucks to spare … maybe the nuns could sell their church and I could convert that.  I could totally do so much with it … have dinners for the homeless, maybe even open up a shelter as well having a really cool place to live in …”

“Abby!” snaps Tony.

“Yes?” she asks benignly, apparently unfazed by having her fantasy interrupted.

“What’s that got to do with … whatever that is on your wall?” asks Tony.

“Well, you remember when Gibbs went to Mexico … the first time – although I guess it might not have been the _first_ time _ever_ but when he went to stay with Mike Franks when he got blown up.”

“Yes,” says Tony as he remembers one of his less happy times at NCIS.

“And you remember that I put up loads of pictures of him?”

“Yes,” says Tony remembering one of the reasons it was an unhappy time.

“And when you were Agent Afloat I had a Tony wall,” continues Abby.

Tony is beginning to wish he had never started the conversation.  Being Agent Afloat is also not a happy memory.

“So, now that you’re all gone I thought I’d start a MCRT wall.  And so I’ve got a picture of all of you.”

Tony wonders where all the photos came from but isn’t sure he wants to know so he turns to another puzzle, “What’s that got to do with us being on a stakeout in church?”

“It’s like a stained-glass window.  And having it on the glass means the light comes through it,” says Abby as if it is obvious.

“Oh,” says Tony.

Abby seems to pick up on something in his voice, “Don’t you like it?  I tried to choose a good picture of you …”

Tony is momentarily distracted, “What do you mean?  There aren’t any _bad_ photos of me – the DiNozzo genes make me photogenic.”

“Oh, of course,” Abby crosses her fingers, secure in the knowledge they can’t be seen by Tony, “What I meant was that I chose a _good_ picture rather than a wonderful one – which most of them are – because I don’t want to show the others up.”

Tony nods at this entirely plausible explanation, “Good thought,” he praises, “Don’t want McInsecure to get worried.”

Abby sighs with relief at a crisis averted but is not to be distracted, “But is there something you don’t like about it?” she asks.

“Well,” says Tony hesitantly, “It’s a bit creepy … I mean, most people in stained glass windows are dead, aren’t they?”

“Oh,” says Abby, “I hadn’t thought of that … I guess I was going with the idea that you put _heroes_ in stained glass windows.  And you guys are totally heroes!”

“I suppose,” says Tony who continues to be dubious.  He calls on memories of school trips to churches, “But aren’t they usually heroes who’ve come to a sticky end?”

“Martyrs, you mean?” says Abby whose churchgoing is more up-to-date than Tony’s.

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Abby is stricken by the thought that she might be jinxing her _heroes_.  “You think I should take them down then?”

Before Tony can give his heart felt approval to this idea, Gibbs intervenes, “Abs!”

“Yes, my silver fox?” chirrups Abby happily.

“Can you do it?” asks Gibbs.

“I guess so,” says Abby sadly, “But I think it’s a pity.”

“What?” demands Gibbs.

“I don’t think it’ll be bad luck …”

“Abby!  What you talking about?” asks a bewildered Gibbs.

“I can take the pictures down,” says Abby, “If you really want me to.”

Gibbs delivers a head slap.  Abby winces on Tony’s behalf.

“I didn’t tell you to phone Abby for … chitchat!” says Gibbs severely.  He sees that Abby is about to put in a plea for the delights of chitchat with her favourite people so hastens to say, “Tell Abby what we need – and then get back to work!”

“Yes, Boss,” says Tony.  “But sometimes it’s a good idea to lead into things gently … prepare the ground … oil the wheels … ask nicely …” he trails off as he realises that Gibbs is probably a stranger to the notion of _asking nicely_.  “Abby,” he says, “Can you look into the A to B Cab company.  McMIT has looked at it and thinks it’s a new company …”

“Great!” enthuses Abby, “I’m always looking out for a new cab company.  I mean I usually drive my hearse or the Hot Rod but sometimes I need a cab …”

“Abby!” says Tony warningly; he feels he’s had enough head slaps for one day.

“On it, Sir!” says Abby crisply.  “Er, what am I on?”

Tony explains that there might be something _hinky_ about the number of fares that the new cab company has picked up.  Abby agrees to do some digging and signs off to do so and to ponder the future of the stained-glass window wall.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Tony is running … but not in straight lines or with any obvious purpose but Tony is excited.  In fact, everything around him is exciting … the smells, the sights and the sounds are all calling to him and he races around trying to savour each new sensation.  Tony gives himself up to the sheer joy of exploration although he is a little disconcerted to see how _big_ everything is.  It is a while before he realises that it is not so much that everything is _big_ but that he is so _small._   He wags his tail with yet more excitement as he realises that he’s a puppy!

Someone calls to him and he quivers with happiness as he recognises the voice and he runs towards the sound as fast as his slightly uncoordinated legs will allow.  He plonks himself down in front of two shapely feet and barks excitedly.  Perhaps he should not be surprised when the feet are replaced by two feet shod in sensible suede lace-ups … and when a rolled-up newspaper swats him on the nose.

“Hey!” he says half-heartedly.

“Tony,” says McGee with what seems like genuine concern, “I think you should go to a sleep therapist!”

“What?” asks Tony.

“You sounded really … excited …” says Ellie.  “And you were … twitching.”

“You could just try shaking my shoulder,” says Tony peevishly.

“Head slaps seem to work,” says Gibbs curtly.

“What we got?” asks Tony, hoping to divert attention from what seem to be embarrassing sleep habits.

“Cab company’s been going for two weeks,” says McGee.

“Doesn’t advertise.  Doesn’t seem to pick up casual rides, pre-booked only,” says Bishop.

“Might be nothing,” says Tony.

“Might be,” agrees Gibbs but it is clear that his gut is lining up with Tony’s to say that something is up.

“I could try for a court order to tap their phones?” says McGee doubtfully, “But yours and Tony’s guts aren’t probably enough to get a judge to sign off.”

Tony thinks judges should accept the evidence of MCRT guts but is realistic enough to know that it won’t be.  He shakes his head at something that is niggling him.

“DiNozzo?” asks Gibbs, “What’s up?”

“You mean, apart from a headache from all those head slaps?” snaps Tony ill-advisedly.  “I mean, thank you for your concern, Boss,” he amends hastily.

Gibbs ignores all this and raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” says Tony, “There was something in my dream …”

Bishop and McGee groan, hoping they’re not about to have a blow by blow account of some embarrassing dream – they’ve listened to too many of Tony’s enthusiastic descriptions of how his imagination works at night and think they are probably already emotionally scarred.  Gibbs is made of sterner stuff – or perhaps he’s just been better at tuning out Tony’s descriptions.

“What?” he asks.

“Don’t know,” says Tony discontentedly.  “I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“Try!” orders Gibbs.

“On it,” says Tony, opting for simple obedience for once.  He returns to his look out position and begins watching again, he is not surprised when, an hour or so later, Gibbs drifts over to watch with him.  “Three more A to B Cabs in the last 45 minutes,” he reports.

Gibbs huffs, “Just got word, three more people in hospital after taking those drugs.”

“Damn,” says Tony.

“Where do the cabs drop the passengers?” asks Gibbs.

Tony points to the café next door to the warehouse.  “I emailed Abby.  Asked her to check it out.  She says there’s nothing hinky about it.  No police suspicions about it.  Seems to be clean.  None of our suspects have been in it.  What we gonna do, Boss?”

Gibbs shifts restlessly, “We may have to go in and raid it,” he says, “But Legal don’t think we’ve got probable cause … like McGee said, my gut isn’t enough to get a warrant.”

“Damn,” says Tony again.

“So,” says Gibbs conversationally.

Tony stiffens, Gibbs doesn’t do _conversational._ “Yes?” he says.

“What were you dreaming about?”

Tony doesn’t really want to explain about the _doggy_ dreams but something else occurs to him which he can talk about, “Well, the way I’ve been head slapped awake three times makes me think of Rule 40!”

Gibbs allows himself a laugh, “If it seems someone’s out to get you …”

“They are,” finishes Tony.  “I’m beginning to feel as if you’re out to get me, Boss.”

Gibbs’ hand twitches as if it wants to deliver another slap and Tony instinctively braces himself.  The hand returns to Gibbs’ lap and he asks again, “What were you dreaming about, Tony?”  He senses Tony’s hesitation, “You can leave out the embarrassing bits if you want.”

Tony thinks … he realises that the way the dreams ended distracted him from what they were about.  He remembers that he was suddenly ecstatic in the last dream … and how disappointed he was when Gibbs’ shoes replaced the stylish sandals.  “Oh,” he says, “I dreamt about …”

“Who?” prompts Gibbs when Tony falters.

“Cassidy.  Paula.”

“Ah,” Gibbs speaks sympathetically as they remember the loss of Special Agent Paula Cassidy. “Do you dream about her often?” he asks.

“Nope.  Not that I remember anyway,” says Tony.  “Probably just a coincidence I did today.”  He exchanges a wry look with Gibbs as he remembers Gibbs’ views on coincidences.  Tony looks away from Gibbs to look once more at the warehouse and café across the road.

Two seconds later his gaze jerks back to Gibbs and he realises that they have had the same thought.

“Joke Shop!” they say in unison.

“What!” asks Bishop as she startles herself awake.

NCISNCIS

Tony is running but there’s no urgency to the run.  He takes in his surroundings and approves of them.  He doesn’t know where he is, but it doesn’t seem to matter.  He is on his own and that doesn’t matter either.  He is content despite the unfamiliarity of his surroundings.  It feels almost inevitable, however, that he sees a familiar figure waiting for him up ahead.  He hears a summoning whistle and then his name being called.  Something within Tony instinctively wants to obey the call but he simply slows to a walk and then sits down out of slapping range.

Tony stays where he is and warily watches Gibbs approach.  A hand reaches out – and pats him gently on the head.  “Good boy,” come the words.

“That’s more like it,” says Tony as he wakes up.

“More like what?” asks Ducky as he withdraws his hand from Tony’s forehead.  “Forgive me, Anthony.  I still favour the old-fashioned method of ascertaining a patient’s temperature.  I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Huh?” asks Tony as he lapses into puzzlement.

“Gibbs has just stepped out,” continues Ducky, “It is some thirty minutes since he finished his last mug of coffee.  You will understand that the situation was critical!”

“Huh?” says Tony again.  He wonders why fluency is eluding him.

“Good to see you back,” says Gibbs striding back into the room.

“Eh?” says Tony as he manages to find some variety in his response.

“I will leave you to your conversation,” says Ducky courteously, “And I will alert the medical staff that you have awakened, Anthony.”

“Eh?”

“We did good,” says Gibbs, taking a seat by Tony’s bedside.

“We did?” says Tony, perhaps encouraged by the almost cheerful words to string two words together.

“We were right,” said Gibbs, “Remembering about Paula.”

“Ah,” said Tony as he remembers, “The joke shop next door.”

“Yes,” Gibbs’ expression is sombre as he and Tony remember how Paula Cassidy died in the bombing, how she had leapt through the hidden door she and Tony had discovered between the place her team had died and the former joke shop next door.

“Wonder what she would have thought,” muses Tony.

“Huh?” asks Gibbs.

“If she’d known that she sent a message from the grave,” explains Tony.

Gibbs nods.  He and Tony had realised that there might be some sort of long hidden door between the café and the warehouse next door allowing potential drugs customers to be driven to the café, use the hidden door to go next door and buy their drugs.  McGee and Bishop had got hold of blueprints of the café and spotted where the door could be.  Tony and Gibbs had gone in as potential customers and waited until the next cab arrived and disgorged its passenger.

From there it had been easy enough to follow her as she accessed the passage way … the force they had met had been a surprise and Tony had received yet another blow to the head and had missed most of the denouement.

“We got them all?” he asks.

“Yes,” says Gibbs contentedly.  “We’ve shut them down.  And they’re singing like …”

“Canaries?” suggests Tony.

“Like people who know their goose is cooked,” says Gibbs.

Tony wonders what such people sound like but is too weary to start a discussion although, truthfully, he knows it would be a very one-sided discussion.

“So,” continues Gibbs, “We did good.  Although the café owner is in shock, he had no idea what was going on but was just pleased that his takings had gone up.”

“Hmm,” says Tony.

“What’s going on?” asks Gibbs.

“Boss?” says Tony innocently.  Gibbs delivers one of his bland stares: it is odd that its very blandness prompts Tony into speech.  “The dreams,” he says.

“Yes?” Gibbs takes a sip of his newly acquired coffee.  It is an oddly reassuring sight and makes Tony feel that Gibbs has settled down to listen and there is plenty of time.

“I dreamt I was a dog,” says Tony.  “One time I was a St Bernard …” Gibbs chuckles.  “Another time I was a puppy … I don’t think you approved!  The first time I was some long-legged red dog …”

“Red Setter, good gun dogs,” suggests Gibbs.  Somehow Tony is not surprised to learn that Gibbs knows dogs.

“That was good,” says Tony reminiscently.  “Until I collided with you!”

“So?” asks Gibbs.

“Made me think … I wanted to please you …”

“Wanted?”

“Want,” corrects Tony.  “Like I said before, I owe you a lot, Gibbs.  You know that.”

“But?”

“But … wayward puppy, loyal St Bernard … clumsy dog … it’s not how I want to see myself.”

“It’s not how _I_ see you,” says Gibbs.

“Yeah?” says Tony doubtfully.

“It’s _not_ how I see you,” repeats Gibbs firmly.

“And then your rules,” says Tony.  “Watch the watchers … and you’re always watching, Boss.  And Rule 40, if you think someone’s out to get you, they probably are.”

“So?”

“So, it seems you’re out to get me, Gibbs.”

“I’m not,” says Gibbs.  “As _I’ve_ said before, you’re the best young agent I’ve ever worked with.”

“And that’s good to know,” says Tony.  “It is.  It’s just that …”

“What?”

Tony suspects the milk of human kindness may be running out as the coffee dries up, “But … well, I’m not young anymore, Gibbs.  And I don’t think …” he pauses, gathering courage, “And I don’t think your leadership style works for me anymore.”

“You think you’re house trained?” asks Gibbs.

Tony squints at Gibbs, trying to work out what he means but decides that he’s committed now, “Yes, Boss.  I do.”

Gibbs gazes at him for an unnervingly long time but Tony doesn’t flinch or fidget.  Perhaps it’s that which convinces Gibbs that Tony has truly moved on.  “Then I guess I do too,” he says finally.

“Thanks, Boss,” says Tony.  “Then I’ll take that new job Vance offered …”

Gibbs nods.  As he watches, Tony’s eyes slide shut.

Tony is running, running, running and it feels good.  He is so absorbed in the running that he doesn’t feel the feather light touch of Gibbs’ hand in his hair or hear him say, “Good boy … good boy.”


End file.
